


even if you're gone (i'm gonna drive, drive)

by hailhydraheyskye



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Suicide Attempt, takes place after 5x07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 17:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4572555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailhydraheyskye/pseuds/hailhydraheyskye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She didn’t care to wear a pinky-princess pajamas bottom with a top that was four times huger for her. Jordan, anywhere he may be, needed her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	even if you're gone (i'm gonna drive, drive)

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by avocadobffs on Tumblr who have asked for " Parrish is about to leave town because he's afraid to hurt Lydia and Lydia confronts him about it."  
> title is taken from Lana Del Rey's song, Summertime Sadness  
> enjoy.

In her bed, Lydia Martin didn’t cease to move. Oh, it wasn’t nightmares (sometimes, she saw The Dread Doctors’ faces tilted on her, sometimes it was Tracey’s, who looked at her with that expression, a combination of pure terror and anger). No, it was something deeper, it was fear.

Fear that they never find Liam and Hayden, or worse, that they find only their corpse. (And, in the dark of her bedroom, she thought about all the corpses that she has seen until now, she gripped her fists, she was strong.)Fear that this creepy situation never ends.

To top it all off, Jordan was missing, Malia has seen him left with his car, and Stiles and Theo didn’t respond to any messages or calls.

Why Jordan was left, why Jordan who should protect them (her and her pack), had disappeared? And, where?

The strawberry-blonde girl checked one more time her phone with hope to have any news. She hadn’t. Her smile was more acid than hopeful. She dialed Scott’s phone number without even realized that.

He answered at the first ring tone, Scott always answered at the first ring tone.

—Lydia?

—What’s happening?

She was sure that he wasn’t at his home, he was their leader and if she couldn’t sleep, she didn’t understand how he could.

— Kira is vanished. My mother has discovered a corpse on the dining room’s table but it is just a perfect night. How is your night?

—Awful and you don’t come with happy news. What are you going to do?

—I don’t know. I could go look after Stiles and Theo with Malia, but I need someone to search after Parrish and I’m wondering if this isn’t linked because…

—I’m going at Jordan’s apartment. You guys deal with Stiles and Theo, and Kira too.

—Okay, Lyds. Be careful, please.

—You too.

He hung up just like that, without even a goodbye, but Lydia was able to understand that, because half of their friends were missing.

She stood up quickly, just like Scott who hasn’t waited a second; they did not have a minute to lose. In pajamas yet, she went out. (She didn’t care to wear a pinky-princess pajamas bottom with a top that was four times huger for her. Jordan, anywhere he may be, needed her. It was her mission.)

She went downstairs in the most silent way that she could, but apparently, it wasn’t enough. Natalie Martin was in front of the door, arms crossed. Lydia thought that she was more efficient when she went over the wall to meet Jackson or Aiden in the middle of the night.

—Okay mom, listen, I need to go out. Now.

—I am seeing that, Lydia, she said without, however, move.

—Mom. I need to go to save my friends. So, if you don’t let me go, I will find another way, but I’ll go. I would like that you let me go of your own free will.

—I don’t understand what is happening in this house, why a crazy girl with a tail has hurt my daughter, but I’m sure that I don’t want this to happen again. So, young girl, come back in your room.

This hit Lydia right in the heart to hear sweetheart-pretty-so young-Tracey be called a “crazy girl” by his own mother. Wasn’t she herself a crazy girl?  

— No mum. I’m sorry really, but I need to go.

And with all of her bravery (she thought to Scott who has as only wish to be the best man possible, to Jordan who devoted his life to save other people’s), she ran outside  her house, ran to her car.

Starting with a great rush, she heard her mother yelled at her: “Lydia! Lydia comes back! You don’t know what you’re doing”.

But, truth was that she hadn’t known what she was doing better than now.

Driving to Jordan’s apartment, she wondered what percentage that he was really here was. In her head, this number came closer to zero. However, she should well begin somewhere.

Like she waited to, no light came from Jordan’s windows. Despite everything, she entered inside the building. Quickly, she reached the fourth floor where Jordan’s apartment was situated.

She remembered the day when he has given to her, a duplicate key. “It is for if you want to come to train by yourself” he has said.

She has asked him if she could use it if she wanted to see him.  “Of course, I’m either at the police station or at my home, so if you need me, you know where to find me”

His words had a cruel taste, actually, when she needed him, but didn’t know where to find him. She inserted the key into the lock and opened the door. The room was plunged into total darkness and Lydia hurried to light up.

She didn’t notice anything that could be out of the ordinary. It was a habitual mess. Lydia could see Jordan’s pillow on the couch (he was used to sleep in the couch more than in his own bed since he fell asleep while watching tv, Lydia known it since that she was coming one night to help him with the bestiary and discovered the deputy asleep on the couch). Slowly, she walked to the bathroom and to the kitchen.

Both of them were empty, but the banshee smiled seeing her brush teeth next to Jordan’s.  Lydia made decision to go into Jordan’s bedroom, the only room of the apartment where she hadn’t put a foot in. The only room that she considered a private space, but this wasn’t her consideration anymore.

Taking a deep breath, almost scared about what she could find in it, she opened the door to discover that the room was empty too. It was very impersonal, the bed was made with hospital corners (she shouldn’t have waited less from him) and his uniform was folded on it.

Closing Jordan’s apartment door behind her, she called Scott.

—Jordan isn’t here, he isn’t at his apartment.

—You are sure, he could be…

—I’m entered in it, Scott. She cut him off, irritated.

— You are entered in it, how has you did to…

— This is not the question Scott. What about Stiles and Theo?

— We are close to the animal clinic.

— Okay, have you an idea of where…

— Lydia…

His voice was just a whisper, raucously and almost inaudibly. He stopped to talk during one time and when he took the floor again, Lydia knew that a terrible thing happened.

—Lydia, I need you to come here, now. We have a problem.

She did not even hang up and drove with her phone still on who gave Scott’s asthmatic-short-winded breath to her.

_We have a problem._

.

.

It was like being at the theater, watching an apocalypse movie. It was deadly-fire-destruction scene and her first thought was “ Stiles will be so angry and sad about what happened to his Jeep”, second was “ Maybe we’ll could pay contribution to Jeep’s reparations” and Malia screamed, so hard and so painful that Lydia not thought more longer.

She not understood even why Malia screamed like that. Then, she saw Stiles’s body. And, unlikely to her friend who was on the ground crying and screaming to death, Lydia didn’t say a word.

While Scott was taking his best friend’s body out of the vehicle in fire, and Malia was drying her tears, hands full of ashes, Lydia went back up in her car, in destination to the police station.

She didn’t even see the road. There were no cars, just flashlights of colors.

She drove faster than the speed limit authorized her to, but no one deputy was here to arrest her. She didn’t even take the trouble to hit before to enter into the Sheriff’s office.

She struck his desk with her flat hands. He was so engrossed by his work that he even stood up his head.

— Where is he? she asked loudly. Where is Jordan?

Her tone should was so desperate that Stiles’s father looked at her, finally.

She was so tired, so empty, with the feeling to be locked up in a body of hundred years. The sheriff doesn’t know, she thought. She decided to not tell him, now. One thing after another’s.

— Parrish?  He doesn’t works tonight but…

— But what? I know that.

— He has come to ask me for a day off tomorrow.

It was too much for Lydia. Without let somebody knows, she showed up into the office that Jordan shared with the deputy Romero.

And, beneath the latter’s very dumbstruck eyes; she knocked out Jordan’s desk. Computer fell on the floor, pencils and paper spilled everywhere and drawers tilted, released all their contents.

—Lydia stops! Stops! yelled Stilinski.

But the girl not noticed it and pursued her carnage, looking for any clues. Where could be Jordan Fucking Parrish?

This was only when two arms caught her, she couldn’t move, that she started to cry.

— I don’t know … I don’t know where he…I need…we must find…something, she stammered, face ribbed of tears that died on her pajamas top.

— What has happened, Lydia?

—I can’t…I can’t tell…

— I need to know what has happened to help you.

Oh, how his words was similar to Jordan’s. Her tears increased and the sheriff through a hand in his gray hair nervously.

Suddenly, he heard a voice from the entrance of the police station:

— Dad, I’m here.

It was Stiles, his son was covered of blood, Malia and Scott helped him walk by supporting him. It was this time that chosen the station police’s phone to ring and Deputy Romero, a little bit overtaken by events, answered.

— Hi can i…yes, she’s here. Yes.

She stood up her head in direction of Stilinski who helped sit his son on a chair.

—Mrs. Martin wants to talk to you, sheriff. It’s about her daughter.

—I’m busy Romero. Say to her that I’m in charge of her.

He looked at Lydia, who was lying on the floor between missing person appeal for Donovan that that Parrish had printed last week and a mug’s fragments.

Scott, in quality of good alpha, came near her.

—Lydia, listen to me, we’ll going to find him, I promise.

— We’ll not, Scott. He’s gone; no one knows where he could be. It’s too late.

Scott thought that the moment was bad to tell her that he suspected the deputy to have injured Stiles. However, he preferred warned Stilinski.

— I think that I could have one clue, I have…it is in his files.

The grey-haired man searched for a while in his computer before to exclaim:

— I found it. I know where his parents live. I found their address.

—Is it far? asked Scott, with a preoccupation-line on his forehead.

—It’s in Oregon. Approximately, I could say that he has 10 hours of driving.

— I’ll go.

But he hadn’t the time to even think about a plan, to explain to sheriff was his son had burnt hair and blood on his whole face, or no-more car that Lydia has taken the paper on whose is scribed Parrish family’s address that they had printed and was left.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t a werewolf and Scott still faster than her.

—You can’t drive like that, Lydia. You can’t drive in this mood during ten hours.

—I can and I will.

—Let me go with you.

—You must save Hayden and Liam. They count on you.

She saw that she has hit him. She wondered if Scott could feel Liam’s pain, at distance. His eyes closed and all features of his face hardened.

He hadn’t choice.

And one more time in this night who is so much long, she took her car and drove, left behind her Stiles who was bleeding, Liam and Hayden who were alone in some dark place, in danger.

She turned off her phone (she didn’t need to learn that the situation going worse) and she left Beacon Hills, like Jordan had done it some hours ago.

.

.

He was broken, so deeply broken, in this small motel room.  He hadn’t slept; he hadn’t eaten, or drunk since he had arrived here.

Because, he was fighting with all of his energy against this vision.

The smell of Lydia’s burnt skin hadn’t left him. The taste of her lips, blending with blood and ashes, he tasted it each time that he passed his tongue on his own lips.

He will never see her again and he was trying to convince himself that it was the better solution. (it wasn’t)

.

.

Lydia stopped her car in front of a coffee shop, when she was no more able to make out passer-by and trees. She ordered and drank her coffee, quietly.

And for the first time since she had left her town, she let herself thought about what she will do if she couldn’t find him.

Dig another grave, just like Allison’s, Boyd’s, and Erica’s. Return at his parents’ home to say: “sorry, it’s me again. It’s to say that your boy, you know Jordan, that I came bring back at Beacon Hills the last time, we haven’t found him. We think that he is dead. I’m sorry, madam.”

She can’t do that so, she’ll carry on searching him, even if this must take all her life to find him.  And, she should know it, if he was dead, wasn’t she?

She was a banshee, she wanted her gift.

She turned on her phone, to discover two messages from Scott, something like “I hope that u are okay.” And “we have found where Liam n Hayden are”

They were alive. She dialed Jordan’s number, just to try.

— It’s Jordan Parrish. I’m not here, but you can let me a message.

—Hi Jordan. It’s me, again. I hope that whenever you are, you’re fine. I’m gonna find you because I’m sure that you have a good reason to have let us in this shit. I miss you.

She hadn’t finished her drink, but it was already cold.

.

.

— …in this shit. I miss you.

And the quiet-peaceful-Jordan Parrish threw his phone on the ground. He would like to throw his mind, to throw himself, on the ground. Obviously, he didn’t remember to have left his friends.

Of course, he had come back to himself, in his car. Cold sweat running on his neck and fear injected in his eyes.

He was burning, but he wasn’t. He was a murderer, but he hasn’t killed anyone.

Not yet.

And the monster under his skin wanted Lydia so much. And, already, Jordan burnt.

.

.

It was a nice house, a nice small garden with a nice fresh-paint-fence and a nice door.

All was bright and perfect and Lydia was a bad cloud in this sky too blue.

She knocked three times on the door before that someone opens it. She heard a domestic babbling and other happy sounds.

Then, there had a woman.

She was just like a pretty porcelain doll, with her pale skin, her blond hair and her bright green eyes (same as Jordan’s). Lydia’s mouth formed a “o” and she wanted more than anything to close this door and go so far away.

— Hi, can I help you?

Her, she couldn’t help her and she was sorry for that.

—Yes. I’m sorry to disturbing you, but I’m a friend of your son and…

—My son? she asked and Lydia couldn’t manage to interpret this ghost of smile on the women’s face.

Stupidly, she hoped, and she pretended to not have seen the strange look that this woman had put on her, at the word “friend”.

— Yes. Jordan Parrish. Is it well your son?

— Yes is it, but…

— Can I see him, please?

— I would like to, miss, but he isn’t here. We haven’t seen Jordan since almost six months.

And Lydia fell with the sensation that she will fall forever.

— But, come in. Come in, miss…

—Martin, she answers automatically. Lydia Martin.

And she entered even if she didn’t want to put only one foot in this house.

She sat on a perfect green couch and put her hands on her knee, straight head and legs crossed.

— Do you want drink something, Lydia ?

— No thanks Mrs. Parrish.

— Oh you can call me Holly.

And the woman (Holly. What a pretty name.), sat just next to her, and began to talk.

Lips closed, Lydia was scared to scream if she opened them. (The blonde woman looked at her, waiting for an answer. It didn’t come, but she continued to wait.)

However, she felt it filled in her throat. She opened her mouth.

Nothing. Lydia Martin not understood.

.

.

Jordan had shot himself twice with his service gun. (The first time, it was ten minutes after Lydia’s call. The second time, it was thirty minutes after.)

He was lying on the bed. Totally alive.

He has sent back the maid service (come after the two gunshot, alarmed by the sound, probably) back, politely.

He hadn’t even blown. The bullets were gone out of his head like out of butter.

He had looked at himself, in a dirty mirror.

No holes, no scars. Only a fine dusting of ashes.

He took the road after 1pm.

.                                                    

.

Lydia was talking with this woman since one hour. (In place of searching after his son)

How have you meet my son? (One of my best friends is the Sheriff’s son)

I hope he is nice with you. (He is very nice, Holly)

At a moment, two teenagers went downstairs, a boy and a girl. Lydia had come close to suffocate.

Jordan’s siblings. If the girl looked like her mother a lot, the boy was just as much Jordan than Jordan himself.

—Do you talked about Jordan? Is he coming home?

— Hi! Who are you? Jordan’s girlfriend?

Come here was a big mistake. Be here with this woman (sweet smile, big eyes looking at her) couldn’t help any of them.

—I don’t want to upset you longer, Mrs. Parrish. Jordan isn’t here; he had probably come back at Beacon Hills.

It was so surrealist. Not for Jordan’s mother who had apparently like his son, an open-mind, and wasn’t astonished to find a girl, at ten hours from her hometown, worn pajamas with high heels, in her own house.

No, it was surrealist for Lydia Martin. She returned to the entrance’s door with all her dignity, head-high, her brain being at full capacity and thinking about all other places, all other solutions.

_The Nemeton, to begin with._

And she opened the door…

And

.

.

He didn’t know why he was here; it was his intuition that had led him here.

He hadn’t had any choices, or at least, it wasn’t his.

He opened the door.

And

.

.

Lydia was used to see dead people come back to life. It was more surprising to see not-yet dead people come back to her.

No one ever come back to her, she was, in general, the tool to rebirth.

She could have pressed his feet with her heel however, Lydia Martin preferred hit him with all her strength, just like he had learned to her. He couldn’t have been a better teacher.

He tottered a moment, but caught hold on himself at the door’s frame.

— I deserve this punch, he said without smile.

— You deserve so many punches, Jordan! Where the hell have you been! I thought that you were dead, and that I will never find you! Do you understand that? You’re so stupid!

To see her, beautiful and furiously alive, was a pretty miracle.

— I know how you’re feeling.

—You don’t! she said, passing a hand thought her divine-missed-hair.

—I am so sorry, I want…

— Yes, everybody wants something in this world, but me, I want you to explain. Where have you been? Why have you left us?

She was interrupted by her phone ring tone. Scott.

— Lydia? Lydia we have a problem.

His voice was different than at the first “we have a problem”, less dramatic and less painful like can be painful to see a beautiful nightmare become reality. She looked at Jordan’s face, and selfishly, all that she was able to think, was that it was a beautiful reality.

—Lydia, I don’t know where you are, or even if you have found Parrish or not but we have found through Stile’s phone who take the bodies. It’s Parrish, Lydia and…

She not listened anymore, but continued to fall.

— So if you find him, be careful because he could be dangerous. He has hurt Stiles, and Theo is gone, he could be violent.

She took away her own phone from her ear and was unable to help laughing. The world was becoming crazy.

She looked at him, one more time just to be sure, and her laugh resumed with greater intensity. Jordan didn’t understand. Oh, she didn’t too.

She has always known this, and this revelation scared her more than anything  because all this time, she could have helped him just like has helped her all this time.

On her phone, Scott was waiting for an answer.

—Scott, she said laughing loudly, I have punched this “violent” guy in the face? What must I to do?

And without stopping to laugh, she added:

—I’m bringing him back, Scott. Don’t tire yourself saying something Scott, it is inarguable.

She smiled at the deputy in front of her:

—Don’t believe that you can escape to me easily. Where were we?

—You wanted answers.

— And I want answers yet.

— I don’t know. Really, I couldn’t leave you if I knew what I was doing. I swear it.

She blushed because she was too receptive of Jordan’s honest tone voice. She was sure that he had seen it because he blushed too.

— I’m sorry to have hit you, she said quietly.

— I’m sorry to have left you.

However, she thought again to his explanation. Where was he here, at his parents’ house if he wasn’t come the last six months?

—Have you lied to me, Jordan?

—When? he asked.

She was stabbed by his question just like she thought be stabbed by thousands of knives. Was he often lying to her?

—Right now? What are you doing here? Has you do all the ride from Beacon Hills to Oregon without know what you were doing?

—No.

He has lied to her, just like the others. She wanted to cry, really, but she wasn’t this kind of girl who cried frequently just because of a stupid boy. A pretty deputy, but who stayed a stupid liar.

— No, Jordan explained, I didn’t want to come back to Beacon Hills. Do you know that I have hallucinated you twice? The first time, you have saved me but the second, when I was on the school’s parking, this night, I have killed you, burnt you. I didn’t want to come back to you, to don’t hurt you. In fact, it was vain because I’m here, in front of you, and I don’t know why. I am a monster, Lydia. I have done monstrous things and I can’t forgive me that.

—So, you are aware?

—Aware? Aware about what?

Oh, it was a pretty mistake that this one.

—Something happened but…

She stopped herself to talk when she saw Jordan’s eyes become darker and darker, sparkles of horror and guilt in them. She took his head (strands of his tight hair skimming her skin) between her hands.

—It wasn’t your fault. Everything that will happen, it wouldn’t be your fault. You got it, Jordan?

She wasn’t sure that he had understood, but at least, it was said.

She grabbed his hand, to do him return to her one more time. He closed his green eyes and he whispers, like he wasn’t speaking to her but to some gods, in order to atone his sins.

—I have tried to shoot myself, today. I can’t do this.

Something was broken in his voice, and Lydia was unable to imagine him desperate enough to want to kill himself.

She moved closer to him, afraid that he flies away.

—If you had not been able to do this, it was because you no wanted do this.

— No Lydia. I have shot. Twice.

He didn’t need to say more than that. She would like to be able to erase all these memories from him, but she can’t.

— I won’t predict your death.

—You won’t.

She was happy, no truly, but close to be. All this time lost to think that he could be dead somewhere, alone and cold.

—Jordan, I want us to come back at home.

He kissed her on the forehead (gently-butterfly kiss) and he took her back to her car before to go to his own.

They said goodbye to his mother, on the porch (Lydia was sorry for this too-good woman who not understood why a girl had hit his precious boy, or why they were here, or anything about it, but gave even thought a sweet smile to her) and she was obligated to joke about it:

—So, six months, deputy?

—I was busy, he answered falsely offend. And we will celebrate Christmas with them if you want to.

— I love to. Your mother is so sweet and you and your brother are as alike two peas in a pod.

—So, for my defense, can I talk about how Lydia Martin is cute in pajamas and high heels in full daylight?


End file.
